


Sam pets the fuzzy hair on the back of Dean's neck

by kumquatix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, In Public, M/M, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumquatix/pseuds/kumquatix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam realizes Dean won't protest public displays of affection he no longer sees any reason to hold back. For the kink bingo prompt "in public".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam pets the fuzzy hair on the back of Dean's neck

They're sitting in a diner, relaxing over coffee, and enjoying not having to be anywhere in a hurry. Dean turns his head and looks out the window to admire the shine on his recently waxed baby, and Sam stares at his neck.

Dean is wearing a t-shirt, and Sam can see a strip of lightly tanned skin sprinkled with freckles across the back of his neck, shading to pale where the collar of his over-shirt usually covers, and where his hair was just trimmed.

The short buzz cut looks temptingly soft, and this is as good a time to go for it as any. Sam gets up and joins Dean on the other side of the booth.

Dean leans to the side to give Sam a better view; he must think Sam wants to help him judge if the kids in the parking lot are going to look at his car wrong, or whatever Dean is worried about. Dean is convinced most people are put in a state of barely repressed seething envy when they see the impala in all its freshly washed glory, and he likes to pull out _The Astronaut_ as his all-trumping example.

Sam walks his fingers up the knobs of Dean's spine, and Dean hitches his right knee up onto the bench seat so he can turn and give Sam more room to work. But Sam isn't going to give him a back rub. Okay, maybe he will later back at their room. Dean did do most of the grave-digging last night, while Sam kept watch with the shotgun.

Dean's hair is as soft as it looks. Sam strokes his fingers from the nape of Dean's neck and up to the crown of his head, spreading his hand so far his thumb and little finger touch behind Dean's ears, then scritches them back down again. The silky tickling feels good.

Dean tenses, and grows silent, but he doesn't push Sam off.

Sam rubs Dean's tight neck muscles a bit with his thumb, then goes back to stroking his hair again. Dean will give him hell for this later, probably in the most humiliating way possible, but he won't shove him off while they're in public. He believes in presenting a united front.

"Sam," Dean says in a low, warning tone. "I know you get confused about these things, so allow me to explain: We're not going to give each other scalp massages and snuggle, and we're definitely not going to do it while poor innocent folk are eating."

Sam scoots a bit closer, and holds on to Dean's shoulder with his left hand, so he can't lean away. He's never going to win this argument, and he doesn't bother trying.

The waitress passes with a carafe of coffee. Her smile turns into a hastily hidden grimace when she sees Sam petting Dean's head, but she quickly pastes it back on as she catches his eye and offers him a warm-up. He nods, and pushes their mugs toward her.

She pours quickly and efficiently without slopping, and shoots glances at Dean. Sam pretends to keep his attention on the way Dean has turned his face down and away, and watches her out of the corner of his eye. To her, Dean's embarrassment must look like submissive pleasure.

"Thank you, Miss," he says.

"Enjoy!" she says. He doesn't think the sarcastic tone is only in his imagination.

Dean's neck is hot under his hand, and his head is bent so far forward his forehead is nearly in the windowsill. Sam feels like curling around him and putting his face there, but he just gently continues the tickling strokes, once in a while rubbing with the pads of his fingers.

"Froufrou mocha latte topped with shaving cream," Dean whispers. "Toothpaste mayo sandwiches. Super Glue."

He smells good, sweaty from hard work, but nice and familiar.

"No one is going to mess with your baby, Dean," Sam says. "They can see she belongs to someone who takes good care of her. They're just admiring from a distance."

Dean sighs wearily at him.


End file.
